Ford At Valverde

by Anita Melillo

  Part of knowing what to do, was having the notion to act on it when the restraints had all been pulled out from under you. There was a nudging, an inner voice that carried on without regard to its intent or mindful ways. Such thoughts would sometimes lead to reasoning, but not tonight. For this night they would be held in the view of another.

  She was lining up the table with the plates for breakfast, preparing for a meal that was yet to come, and still another days light. It didn’t make sense to the casual observer, but then again he had never considered himself to be more casual than the moment had lent itself. Beyond the line of forks and spoons were the napkins, carefully arranged so that a trace of remembrance remained. It was being thoughtfully planned so as to become special.

  Her fingers, slender and long, twitched at the sound of his entrance. His footsteps were mere pads against the floor, but the strides had been obvious against the creaking floor. She turned to find him standing there, his shirt still open from having just put it on, and his pants unbuttoned at the waist. Was it some daring attempt at her good will, or was there something hidden behind the closed door and should she dare unlock it? These thoughts mingled in with the will to continue at a quicker pace and then go on to bed, but then she waited.

  “You’re still up,” she mentioned the obvious.

  “Yep,” he replied as he leaned against the counter and watched, noting her progress as she moved about the room.

  It was awkward that she hadn’t since retired already, and she wondered what he must be thinking.

  “Am I keeping you awake?... I’ve been trying like the dickens to get caught up on some things,” she said as she grabbed a wet cloth and began wiping off the chairs.

  He moved in closer and stood directly behind her. She stopped what she was doing as he placed his hand on her shoulder, as though to end the task she was so content on keeping busy at. She turned to him, both nervous and anxious, and glanced down at his feet that were bare against the faded floor.

  “I need to repaint this floor,” she said. “Perhaps I’ll get started on it tomorrow,” she tried to seem distracted.

  He reached up and lifted her chin towards him and leaned in with a kiss, subtle and soft on her lips.

  She welcomed him, but hesitated. “What are we doin’?” she questioned, like nothing good could come her way.

  “Getting to know each other better,” he breathed into her mouth and enveloped her with his arms, his chest pressing firm against her breast.

  “How do I know this is right?” she questioned as her lips met the side of his mouth.

  “You feel it,” he said as he leaned her back against the table and one of the forks flung off onto the floor with an echoing thud.

  “Shhh..,” she whispered with a quivering laugh and pressed her way back up against his resistance. “Wait here for a few minutes and then come to my room.”

  He didn’t say a word, but just stood there and waited, wanting more.

  After some time had passed, he laid his glasses on the table and turned down the wick of the oil lamp. The rest of the house was dark, but there was glow from the shine of the moon that crested outside the long arched window at the length of the narrow hallway. He walked quietly so that the floor didn’t creak as much and went to the bedroom that seeped a dim light from beneath the door. Then he took a couple of deep slow breaths and turned the knob.

  Startled, but expecting him just the same, she turned from beside the four postered bed. A single candle burned on the dressing table and her hair was down, tousled into curvy strands of disarray, and resting on the bosom of her robe. It was shear and long, with a ruffle of fabric down the middle and untied at the waist. She wore nothing underneath, and his eyes were bewitched by her slim silhouette before the lighted flame. Then he closed the door and went to her.

  His palm was warm and sweaty, and when he smoothed his hand beneath the collar, the robe slid to the floor, languid like silk. Her breasts were round and full, luminous by the flicker of light that danced across them. He moved his hands down and touched them, soft and warm, despite the cool dank air and began there, finding his way up her neck until they were both unclothed. Then they discovered each other in the darkness, enveloped by the bond that had crossed boundaries unseen to find them there.

  The morning had a way of concealing itself, like the mesh of moss that dangled from the branches of the wide oak tree like a brides veil. The dogs had treed a raccoon and were barking so that it was forced to climb higher. Even the blackbirds flew away from the ruckus that was just beyond the bedroom window. Suddenly though, the dogs went tearing through the yard, as if a new development had emerged. Annabelle sat up and draped herself in a blanket as the panes of glass began to rattle. There were footsteps on the front porch.

  She rushed over to Daniel and shook him awake. “Oh no,” she said with fear and regret. “It’s Myra!”

  “Oh shit!” he exclaimed as he jumped up and pulled at his pants, still half-asleep, and jigged his way into them.

  As soon as she pulled a dress over her head, she buttoned up the front and twisted her hair up with pins.

  “You’d better stay put,” she warned him with a peck on the cheek.

  “For how long?” he asked, as he tucked the shirt into his pants, but she was already gone.

  The old woman was dressed in a black fringed dress and wore a wide rimmed hat with a satin bow pressed against the side. Her expression was grim as the wrinkles were parched tight around her mouth that sagged with deep wrinkles and jowls. She didn’t even bother to remove the pins from her hat as usual, as she plopped the five pound bag of sugar onto the floor of the kitchen. Then she saw the place setting for three, which seemed odd since she hadn’t specifically told Annabelle that she would be returning that morning, and there wasn’t anything cooking on the stove.

  Annabelle was quick as she paced into the kitchen and said, “Myra I wasn’t expecting you back so soon!”

  The woman’s disposition was already out of sorts, and now the sudden rise in temperament was lashed out with a French accent, “Of course. I can see, but who were you expecting?”

  She glanced down at the table again and saw the eyeglasses. “Annabelle, what have you done?” she acknowledged her in a gaze of complete horror.

  “It’s not what it appears.., you must let me explain,” she replied.

  Myra paced the floor as though holding something in and then said, “I met the Lebet’s on the road. You know the brothers, Birch and Po. They say a man from the north held them at gunpoint and stole from them, and they are looking for him this day.” Then she walked over and picked up the eyeglasses, waved them in the air and stomped her foot with a shout, “Do you know of this man?!”

  Annabelle was forced to answer before there was even a chance to explain anything about the situation.

  “No, Myra!” she exclaimed. “I don’t know the man you’re speaking about.”

  “Dit mon la verite’!” (Tell me the truth!) she shouted and tossed the glasses onto the counter.

  “Those belong to a friend, a very dear friend who was robbed and beaten along the road. He didn’t do anything wrong,” she tried to defend him.

  Just then, Emmett came running across the living room and into the kitchen, fully dressed in his brown pants and shirt, and surprised by all of the uproar.

  “Mamere!” he exclaimed, as though glad to see her, yet wondering why she was home already and so upset.

  She went to him and put her arm around him, expressing concern in a way that caught him off guard. He pulled away from her tight hold around his shoulders and went to his mother. But before she could defend him, Daniel had entered the room. He was fully clothed with his boots on, having heard the commotion and ready to shed some light on the situation.

  Annabelle shook her head as he walked up to her apologetically.

  “Mais, jamais d’la view!” (Well, never in my life!) Myra exclaimed in disbelief.

/>   She walked right up to him and looked his clothes over, up and down until she flicked his shirt possessively. “Se motchen!..,” she fumed and then turned to Daniel as though he was too stupid to know the translation. “It’s mine!”

  Annabelle cut in, deeply offended, “Fait pas une esquandal!... (Don’t make such a racket!)” and pranced right up to her face and added with tears in her eyes. “He was my husband!”

  At that, Myra worked a black glove loose from her hand as she spat, “Je vas te passé une collotte! (I will pass you a slap!)” and she whipped it across her face.

  “Co faire?! (Why?)” Annabelle stood there, wanting to hit back, but she didn’t.

  “E-ou’ est-ce que tu deviens?” (Where are you from?), she glared at Daniel.

  Daniel was confused as Annabelle replied, “It doesn’t really matter where he’s from. You won’t believe him anyway.”

  She temporarily slowed her speech so that she could communicate her words clearly and profoundly. “A Yankee spy! Who broke into my home and took what is mine! I will tell the authorities of this!”

  “You will do no such thing!” Annabelle protested. “You don’t even know him enough to judge him! Why do you determine the worse before you’ve even let me explain?!”

  “It is written all over you, like a cunja!” she yelped back.

  Emmett went over and put his arm around Daniel. “He’s a good man, Mamere. Don’t do this!”

  “What’s a cunja?” asked Daniel.

  “She thinks you put some kind of spell on me,” Annabelle huffed with a cough.

  “No Ma’am,” Daniel replied, but Myra was already searching around for the gun, which she happened to find in Annabelle’s bedroom and abruptly returned, aiming the weapon at his heart.

  “Diable!” she spat, as though he was less than dirt.

  Daniel looked to Annabelle, “If I didn’t know any better I’d say she just called me the Devil!”

  Suddenly, the gun went off and blasted a whole into the wall. Annabelle jerked it free as the womans hat fell off. Her hair was long, dark and grey and wiry, and she challenged her opposer, as she heaved as though on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

  “What you do now?!” she said with a testy tongue, as though she was up for the challenge, and patted her hand against her chest.

  “Go on and give us some time to send him away. Don’t speak of him to anyone, or I swear you’ll never see us again!” Annabelle insisted.

  “Bon Dieu! (The Good Lord),” she spat wearily, as though Annabelle had lost her mind. “Come Emmett, we’ll go together!”

  “No, Mamere. I’m stayin’” he insisted and stood next to Daniel.

  “Ha!” she smirked with a breath of despite, picked up her hat and then left. The screen door flapped in the wind as the horse and carriage rode off with a firm crack of the whip.

  Daniel pulled Annabelle to him in an embrace, as Emmett watched curiously, but was more afraid for his safety than anything else.

  “We’d better get you out of here,” he said as though there wasn’t time to waste.

  “I know, Emmett.” Daniel replied and looked down to Annabelle.

  “Go saddle the horse,” said Annabelle “and gear it up well!”

  “Okay, Mama,” he replied and headed outside for the barn.

  Annabelle was in tears as she rushed about the house frantically, stuffing food and bedding into an emptied pillowcase, along with a small square pipe tobacco tin she brought out from her bedroom. She put it up to Daniel’s chest, as he put his glasses on to see what she was holding, frustrated and confused.

  “Take it,” she insisted. “You’ll be needing it more than we will.”

  He opened the lid and saw the money inside, a wad of cash and coins, and he didn’t want to accept.

  Then there was the sound of approaching horses, that almost sounded like a stampede as they rushed the side of the house and then stopped. Emmett yelled.

  As fast as she could, Annabelle ran over and flung the door open. Then she screamed as Birch had him by the hair of the head, and a razor sharp hunting knife, wedged by its point beneath his chin.

  “No!” she screamed. “You let him go!”

  At that, the man forced his way into the house and demanded to know where the Yankee was.

  Daniel stepped out of the kitchen, holding the gun and forcing its reload. “There’s no reason for this,” he warned. “Just let the boy go, and state your business with me!”

  Birch twisted his hair tighter within his grip and Emmett cried, as his feet crouched beneath him.

  “Let go of the boy, dammit!” he cocked the shotgun and aimed. “And tell me what you want!”

  “We found the map.., and now you gonna help us find the rest!” he sneered.

  “What’s he got to do with it?” questioned Daniel as his jaw tightened, the anger welling up.

  “No Yank in his right mind gonna let a boy die over some gold. He’s gonna make sure you stay in that right mind,” he grinned broad and wicked and tugged on Emmet’s hair some more, as he cried out from the tension.

  Then the hounds were howling, long and slow gruffs that warned of impending danger, and the collies started snapping at Po as he tried kicking them away. The horse turned in circles and reared up nervously, and tried to stomp them away. Suddenly, Po whistled to Birch and he turned.

  “What you want me to do, shoot ‘em?” he yelled.

  At that, Daniel aimed square at his temple, gauged the rifle and pulled the trigger. The blade fell to the floor and Emmett scrambled to his mother. As Birch fell backwards onto the porch, his blood splattered on the screen door.

  Annabelle pulled Emmett behind the door and hugged him for dear life. Daniel paused for a moment to reload and then stepped onto the porch.

  When Po saw his brother fall, he fired a shot towards Daniel and started to ride away. The bullet missed and cracked the side of a wooden barrel instead, but Daniel reached down and grabbed the knife, having flung it swift so that it stabbed him in the lower back. There was a yelp as the man slumped forward and then fell to the side, his foot was caught in the stirrup, and was dragged alongside the horse as it galloped away. Birch’s horse followed, with saddlebags flapping against its side, and the dogs followed along, baying on behind them.

  Annabelle and Emmett stepped past the bloodied body in the doorway and saw Daniel on the lawn, betwixt about the predicament. There wasn’t much use in burying the one on the porch when the other would be discovered soon enough.

  “You’d better hurry! They’ll be coming for you!” Annabelle exclaimed, torn herself by what to do.

  Daniel nodded and stepped back onto the porch, and looked at Emmett's neck, which was spared a snip of the blade. Then he crouched over Birch’s body and began searching his pockets. He found a revolver, along with his map and stuffed them into the back of his pants.

  “You’ll have to take the river, they’ll track you on the road,” her heart went out to him, and her hands were shaking uncontrollable.

  “Come with me,” he said sincerely to her as he stood up. “We’ll land the claim together and I’ll take care of you both. I swear to it!”

  Annabelle’s chin was quivering. “I don’t know, Daniel.”

  “What if they accuse you, Mama?! I say we go with him!” Emmett made a tight fist as though he was ready for a fight, although he merely didn’t know how to express so much emotion.

  “You talked me into it,” she said out of haste. Then she rushed about the house, grabbing what was needed and then back to her bedroom. She pulled her pillow from her bed and stuffed the items inside her pillowcase, along with a small leather pouch she had taken from her dressing table. And as soon as she could get her boots on, they were away from the house and running through the field with what little they could carry.

  “Do you think they’ll catch up to us?” gaped Emmett out of concern as he led the way, jumping over prickly bushes and anything else t
hat got in his path.

  “Anything’s possible,” she urged him forward and picked up the pace as she looked over her shoulder. “But it’s the one thing to keep your sights on!”

  streams of mire